“There’s different levels of dick.”
Luis met Paolo’s gaze head on, his golden eyes steady. “That right?”
Paolo swallowed, hiding his face behind his coffee mug. Anyone else, he might’ve thought they were flirting, but... not Luis Pope. He was taking the piss. He had to be, because the alternative was mind-blowing.
And flattering. When was the last time a bloke as hot as him looked your way twice?
Too long ago to remember, but then, Paolo’s love life was time constrained to the occasional Scruff hook-up, so...
“Anyway.” Paolo cleared his throat. “Am I right about your hearing?”
Luis gazed at him for another drawn-out moment, then nodded with a heavy sigh. “You’re right. I got by with it for a while, but it’s getting worse.”
“What’s caused it?”
“You really want to know?”
“Asked, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but you said you didn’t want any road shit up in your face.”
“I meant that in the literal sense, not that you had to pretend you’re someone else.”
Luis’s eyebrows twitched.
Paolo snorted. “Okay, maybe I did mean that. But whatever. I’m an arsehole. I say and mean lots of things in the heat of the moment.”
“Like what?”
Like stuff you’re too straight to ever hear.“Stop evading. It’ll be lunchtime at this rate.”
Beaten, or perhaps bored of their dance, Luis leaned forwards too. Both hunched over the table, Lord knew what they looked like to anyone watching, but Paolo didn’t care, and maybe, just maybe, neither did Luis.
He raised his hand. For a heart-stopping second, Paolo thought he might touch his face. But he didn’t. He pushed his own hair back, revealing an ugly, ragged scar on his scalp. “Retaliation,” he said. “For something Dante had fucked up on the outside. Someone had to pay, and apparently, I hadn’t paid enough for his bullshit.”
Paolo’s fingers itched to trace the scar. It was clearly old, but the vicious line of raised flesh turned his stomach. “What happened?”
“Got jumped in the showers and whacked with a pipe. Knocked me out for two days and damaged the auditory nerve in my brain.”
“How bad?”
“I don’t know. I got away with it for a while, but it’s got worse in the last year.”
“Can they do anything to fix it?”
“Dunno.”
Paolo eyed Luis and set his mug down. Was his vague answer another deflection, or did he really not know? His expression was as open as Paolo had ever seen it, but after two short days with the man, what did he know?
In any case, the cafe had begun to fill up again, and it was time to get back to work.
The lunch rush came and went. With Luis clearing the tables, Paolo’s tired self felt like he was on holiday. Perversely, the lack of absolute chaos kicked his fatigue up a gear. He made mistakes. Got mad. Repeated them.
“I asked for beans, mate. Not tomatoes.”
Paolo glared at the hipster with the ludicrous facial hair.Is that a thing now? Porn-star moustaches?Maybe he needed to get out more.
Or not, if it meant waxing handlebars. “We don’t do beans.”
